, 1887-03-26

blonde and Jacopo was dark. At first the
child Jacopo could not understand what
had become of his beloved sister. He
law her little body strewn with frosh cut
flowers and tho chaplet of snow white
flowers that surrounded her marble brow
where the yellow silk hair strayed down
frcest. He touched her face and cried:
''Claire, my Claire, why do you not speak
to me9 1t is only me, little brother ia
coboi' And when no answer came from
the little dead body, his paroxysms Of
grief became so violent that the good
hearted neighbors said he would surely
kill himself, and carried him away.
One day the now utterly forlorn child
was walking, half sobbing, through Il
narrow old street, where queer gablcd
houses cast fantastic shadows along the
almost forsakcn thoroughfarc, and no
sound disturbed the silence but the praise
singing of some pious sisters in one of the
converts that abound in the Hautc Vile,
when n vicious young man, known as
"Lc Salvage" approached Jacopo and
laughed and TESTED at him for his weeping
for n mere girl.
"You ought to be n girl yourself. If
you want to find Claire why do you not go
down to the crypt of the cathedral at mid
night, and then you will find your sister"
The child looked up with his large, dark
eyes flashing with the light of expectation.
"And shall l truly find ma chcre Claire
thereY' Jacopo asked.
"Of course you will, you little fool
said the savag as he ran off down ono Of
the ghostly streets of old B%oulogne.
On that same night the fat old sacristan
Of the cathedral was aroused from his
slumbcrs by hearing shril cries issuing
from somewhere in the great edifice. The
hour was midnight. Father Hildebrand
crossed himself, commended himself 20 the
protection of tho Holy Mother, and triply
armed in his faith, proceeded to search for
the cause of the mysterious sounds. As
his football echoed and re-echoed through
the lonely aisles his soul became troubled
with strange fears. What if it were
thieves breaking into the church to rob 1t
of its sacred t~reasuresY What if-and
the thought made him shudder-it were
some manifestation from another world'
But Father Hildebrand crossed him
self anew and went on with renewed
strength Of purpose. At last he
reached the end of the great cloister
and felt sure he heard the sobs and cries
of n child. Advancing cautiously, shad-
ing his candle carefully with one hand, he
swept past the different tombs. Then he
saw n sight which arrested his further
progress for n minute. In front of great
ancestral family tomb stood u weeping
child with its hands clasped and held up
toward the shaft of moonlight which
pierced through one of the narrow Sits in
the thick stone wall and shone full upon
the boys face ms he walled NJ Claire,
ma Claire, ma soeur why do you not come
to me when 1 call? 1t is only me, little
Jacopol Oh, do not be unkind to your pet
it frere.' The child at last sank upon his
knees, swayed for n few seconds, and then
fell heavily upon the damp stone squares.
When Father Hildebrand reached the boy
for, of course, it was poor little Jacopo
"A Shaft of moonlight was shining on his
face like u stream of glory sent
from heaven. No one need to tell the rest.
Jacopo had only tainted, but it was many
months before he arose from q fever, dur
ing which his black clusters of hair had
turned pure white. He recovered, but
never could say q word about the events
OF that terrible night. All he could cry
was, Claire ma Claire!" Father Hide
brand took care of the poor child. Not
only had Jacopo's hair turned white, but
his quiet, steady blue eyes %glistcned with
n light unknown to sunlight; it was the
light that never shone on land or sea.
He is now the darling of the poor of
Boulogne, their mascot, their whatever
you please to call it. But Father Hide
brand declares that on that shaft Of moon
light which swept dow upon the praying
boy he perceived in ecstasy the form Of
his beloved Claire. "And why not?n ad-
ded my friend; docs not Claire mean the
moonlight, and might not the straight
shafts of moonlight DO the celestial
vehicle of a vision to the boyY'
That finished my friends story of
Jacopo.
The boy with the systematically wistful
eyes and the snow set hair is dead.
Jacopo died, with his hands fixed over his
breast in Il pious position, murmuring:
"Claire, ma Claire, 1 am coming to join
thee in thy Fairgrounds. Why did you
leave me so lonely to be the child of the
new year-the sad fls du jour dc l'anyn
And Father %IIildebrand, good soul, is in
c%onsolablc. Death, no declares, while ho
touches his breast and forehead and makes
the sign of the santa cro.x,n has for him
no further terrors. Fertilization for the
etcrnities he had found in little Jacopo.--
Malcolm Mcpherson in Detroit Free
Press.